Sunset Blues

the candle melts into a heath,
born from dust and rust, waving
its existence away
in a cave of foregone hours.

though, by invisible hands carried,
as by a nod in the unruffled murk,
an august flame reawakens -
     devouring the prowling dread that
     soils its cradle.

aloft, beyond the parapets of intimate sorrow,
cresting the vacuous lonely earth, it reaches up
to drink from the smouldering eyes of wilted
constellations.

craggy and ascetic cliffs on a distant shore
may contemplate the rufuscent thrall, sleighing
over the wrinkles of a jaded ocean like a spectral
taint.

A last sigh, insignificant among breezy whispers and
raucous murmurs, as I mourn its passing, and seal then
the lid over this sight.